


Case 164: The Adventure Of The Winning Woman (1899)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [211]
Category: Miss Marple - Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Murder, Child Murder, Destiel - Freeform, Exhaustion, F/M, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Poisoning, Sussex, Trains, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-23 09:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ A case involving two women at opposite ends of humanity's wide spectrum – one that seeks justice and one that seeks money regardless of trifles such as the lives of her own children. Sherlock and John return to the Sussex Downs to assist someone who will later have a 'criminal career' of her own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Northern_Gryphon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Gryphon/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

Of all the cases that John and I investigated over our years together, this like the Marlow murder was another that left a mark on me as the murderess here showed not one scintilla of human decency. And that it happened not far from where we would later choose to settle only made matters worse. That and the fact that I did not wish to tarnish the villagers here by association with the cuckoo in their midst were the reasons that this horrible case was not originally published, rather unfortunately as it tuned out since the lady who brought us this case would go on to establish her own 'life of crime'.

It was only two days after the conclusion to our case with Lord Fortescue; we had just received a telegram from Inspector Chatton Smith that his insatiable lover Mr. Macdonald had insisted on 're-christening' every single room in their house. Our friend bemoaned the fact that his lover was so insufferably smug on occasions like these and I had quite sympathized. It was so annoying when people were like that.

I had woken John for the arrival of breakfast and his look of trust and adoration (possibly coupled with his handing me all his bacon) had made me feel so soppy that it was a surprise I was able to manage the door-handle on the way out. I knew that John did not have any clients today and that Mrs. Singer had been instructed to refuse any requests for his help by saying that he was indisposed. I would have commented on that knowing smile of hers, but she had a rifle and cooked me bacon while I quite enjoyed living thank you very much, so I did not.

֍

By mid-afternoon John was at least partially recovered, although his look of utter horror when I suggested that we go for a walk was hilarious. All those stairs in his condition – so not happening!

I was surprised when Mrs. Singer called on us, holding a card.

“I know that the doctor is, ahem, indisposed”, she said with a smirk quite unbecoming a lady of her class, “but there is a young lady here who wishes to see you both and who is heading back to Sussex early tomorrow.”

I looked at John who just about managed to nod his agreement. He was currently sat on two cushions and looked fairly normal, although I knew that any sudden movements (or for that matter any movement at all) would be... problematic.

“Please send the young lady from Sussex up”, I said. “We shall receive her.”

There was most definitely a snigger as our landlady left but I thought again about a certain firearm and so did not hear it. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and upon my calling out for them to enter, a young girl duly appeared. She was about sixteen years of age, pink-cheeked and dressed in a plain cream and frankly unprepossessing smock. She looked at me curiously, then across at John. I was sure that there was something knowing in that brief look but it had gone when she turned back to me. I accompanied her to the fireside chair.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, sirs”, she smiled. “My name is Miss Jane Marple and I am visiting London with my parents for reasons of shopping, and for seeing some deeply unpleasant relatives whom they dislike quite intensely but who are very rich and therefore worth putting up with from time to time.”

I was amused by her frankness.

“How may we be of assistance?” I asked. 

She hesitated.

“I expect a fourth murder to be committed in my village quite soon.”

That was.... honest. I took a deep breath.

“From that I am to infer that three murders have been committed already”, I said, “and successfully covered up because such a thing would surely have made the London papers even if the deaths had been some distance apart. The press particularly enjoys labelling somewhere as 'a murder hot spot'.”

She nodded.

“About a year in each case”, she said. “It is made more difficult by the fact that my family is in the process of moving. We will shortly be quitting Newick and moving to Kent, St. Mary Mead in the west of that county. And I am sure that the murder will happen a few weeks from now.”

I thought for a moment.

“Let us start at the beginning”, I said. “Who is the murderer, please?”

(That was such an odd sentence, even in our line of work!).

“A most winning woman called Mrs. Ambrosia Remenham”, our visitor said. “She is a widow who had some four children by her late husband. He worked in a quarry just across the border into Kent and died in an accident there about five years ago. He left her four children to bring up; Michael, Martin, Emily and Elizabeth.”

“And the first three of those are the ones murdered?” I asked, wincing at the thought. She nodded again.

“You see, it is this life insurance”, she said, twisting her pale hands nervously. ”I did not understand it at first but that clever Mr. Prestwick, who arranges Father's affairs for him, kindly explained it to me. He is a decent enough gentleman although that fact that he has what I believe is in common parlance called a 'crush' on Mother makes things.... well, such is the way of the world.”

I was beginning to wonder about oru client.

“Mr. Prestwick told me that anyone can insure the life of a person that they are related to”, she went on, “but for young children the costs are so much more in the first few years of their lives. I suppose it is because so many die young, the poor things. Poor Michael, Martin and Emily Rememham were all murdered not long after their fifth birthdays, and in each case just after their lives had been insured.”

I looked at her shrewdly. She sighed.

“Miss Elizabeth Remenham will turn five this Friday”, she said. “I do not know of course but I am sure that her mother has already arranged to insure her life for a sizeable sum.”

John spoke up from his chair.

“Was not the insurance company suspicious after the second or third of the deaths?” he asked.

“She was I believe clever enough to choose a different company each time”, our visitor said. “I would presume however that they must communicate with each other to some extent because the third company sent a gentleman down from London to investigate before they paid out; clearly someone had become suspicious. But Mrs. Remenham is as I said a most winning woman and can turn on the charm when she needs it. I would not trust her to tell me the time of day!”

If John was not drawing a cat on his notes just then, I was a Dutchman! Especially as Miss Marple looked sharply across at him for some reason and he blushed intently.

“Have you any idea how the murders may have been carried out?” I asked. 

“My personal opinion is that she used poison for the first and third ones”, Miss Marple said blutheley, as if she was discussing what colour dress to wear out of an evening. “Both had been sickly children so that of course reduced people's suspicions, although after Emily's death there was of course talk. It is a village, and there is little else to talk about. Young Martin was drowned in the river that runs not far from the village; he always was one for doing what he was told not to so again it was not thought that surprising.”

She spoke as if murder were a commonplace factor in village life in the country to which I was planning to retire to with my love. She caught my look and smiled.

“There were two other deaths some years back that I considered suspicious, but sadly the evidence was not there”, she said. “The innkeeper of the tavern out on the Barcombe road; his wife died on a walking holiday and he married his mistress soon after; life insurance was involved there too I believe. And old Mrs. Carston died at a most opportune time for her two sons whom inherited her large house and both of whom were in severe financial troubles. And are again; people's natures do not sadly change over time.”

I was seriously beginning to wonder about Sussex!

“Hmm”, I said making a mental note that I would check our eventual destination very thoroughly before embarking there. “May I ask, exactly when are you yourself moving to Kent?”

“Next Monday, the nineteenth”, she said. “I do not believe that she will strike before then; the other three were all dispatched some weeks after their respective birthdays, the shortest delay being that of Michael who was removed three weeks on.”

The unfortunate thought that this young lady herself might make a decent murderess crossed my mind. I really needed to get out more but then I would not be being responsible for a certain doctor being unable to stand up just then.

“That gives us five days”, I said looking at the calendar, “and two before the birthday before which presumably nothing can happen. We shall take this case, Miss Marple, and I expect that we may see you in Newick before you leave. Hopefully in time to prevent a murder.”

She smiled at me.

“Thank you, sir”, she said, rising to her feet. She smiled across at John before adding teasingly, “Do not feel the need to stand, doctor!”

As I said, worryingly efficient.

֍

Once Miss Marple had left I fired off a telegram to Miss Charlotta Bradbury asking about Mrs. Remenham's insurance arrangements. As Miss Marple had guessed the woman had insured each of her first three children with a different insurance company and worse, had indeed set up the arrangements for her fourth with the Imperial Insurance Corporation to start on Friday. Miss Marple had read her well.

“How can you stop her, though?” John asked when I told him. “You can hardly watch her around the clock.”

“Because I am going to offer her a chance to get rid of her last victim much more easily”, I said.

He looked at me in surprise.

“How?” he asked.

“By playing on some country prejudices!”

֍

Early on Friday morning we took a cab to Victoria Station and a train to Purley, where we changed to the slow train to Lewes via East Grinstead. The countryside through which we passed was only lightly populated and quite charming.

“They call this the 'Bluebell and Primrose Line'”, John told me as we paused at a small junction station called Horsted Keynes. “Apparently some wit claimed that the service is so dilatory that passengers have the time to get out and gather some of the flowers that grow near the railway.”

I looked at him. He shuffled nervously.

“If this were not a corridor train”, I growled, “I could think of a far better use for my time that gathering flowers. Namely deflowering one very handsome English country doctor.”

It really was satisfying, making him breathe faster like that. He had to make an effort to pull himself together.

“You did that last night”, he deflected.

“Twice”, I smiled in happy memory. “But they do say that the third time is a charm!”

He whimpered. As well he might; it was a long way back to London Town and the guard had told me that this line also had non-corridor trains!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

Unfortunately that sort of thing would have to wait as we had a murder to prevent. We duly arrived at Newick and Chailey station whence a cab took us the mile or so to Miss Marple's village. I very much doubted that her parents would have approved of her being involved in a murder case but we were fortunate to find her sitting on a bench on the village green. John went to book us rooms at the nearby Bull Inn while I explained all that I had found thus far.

“There has been a most worrisome development”, she said. “Mrs. Remenham has recently purchased some rat poison from the ironmonger's store.”

I was surprised at that.

“She actually bought poison in the village?” I asked. “Surely that is rather risky?”

She shook her head.

“Mr. Ferns the ironmonger is having an affair with the vicar's daughter”, she said airily, “an unpleasant female who is engaged to be married to the daughter of the rather lazy policeman who is based in Barcombe. And Mrs. Remenham is aware of that fact. Mr. Ferns will not want the police digging around and asking any more questions than they have to.”

I was impressed.

“Do you know everything that goes in in Newick, Miss Marple?” I asked.

“Not everything, sir”, she said in a tone of mild reproof. “But there are few secrets in a place as small as this. And servants will always gossip, especially to inconsequential young girls.”

“I am beginning to think that you are far from inconsequential, Miss Marple”, I said. “Indeed, were you of a criminal persuasion I am sure that the Sussex Constabulary would have more than ample reason to fear you!”

She turned pink at such a suggestion but, I noted, did not deny it. John rejoined us.

“Something else has happened”, she said. “Yesterday a gypsy caravan appeared in the field behind Mrs. Remenham's cottage, and she was seen talking to the gentleman.”

“I have taken certain steps which may precipitate her actions”, I said. “A most commodious house in Barcombe has suddenly come up for sale and she can almost afford it. But there is another buyer interested, so she will need the money as soon as possible.”

Miss Marple looked at me dubiously.

“You are encouraging her to make her move?” she asked.

“It is the only way”, I said. “That is the trouble with stopping a murder before it happens; the murderer has all the advantages when it comes to choosing a time and place to strike. But by forcing her hand we can perhaps avert a tragedy.”

“Only perhaps?” she asked.

“Sadly yes”, I said. “Few things are guaranteed in this world.”

“Except someone's complete lack of modesty!” said someone who was going to live to regret that remark. As his widened eyes and suddenly increased breathing told me he had too late realized.

Miss Marple smiled for some reason.

֍

The following day the village was agog with the shocking news that the body of Miss Elizabeth Remenham had been found in the small lake just north of the village green. And in a possibly related incident, the gypsy caravan which had been parked behind that girl's mother's cottage had gone as if it had never been there.

By a stroke of luck Miss Marple's parents were making two trips to Hampshire with all their things and had left her behind to look after things, so she was able to join us at the police station when Constable Bittern brought in Mrs. Ambrosia Remenham. He was athletic, blond and worried-looking while she was.... I have to admit that Miss Marple had been right in that she was incredibly winning. If I had not known her true character I would have believed her tears and apparent distress. She looked at the three of us curiously.

“Who are these gentlemen?” she asked the constable.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, down from London”, the constable said. “They are assisting us with our inquiries.”

She clearly knew my name although she covered her alarm well enough. She dismissed Miss Marple with a look and turned back to the constable.

“Have you had any luck finding that gypsy who killed my daughter?” she demanded.

“That would be difficult”, I said, “as he did no such thing.”

She looked at me coolly. I was really beginning to think that we had another Moriarty in the making here. Thankfuly she would not be around long enough to prove that theory.

“How can you know that?” she asked.

I smiled, stood up and crossed to the door on the far side of the room which I entered. A tall fellow with black curly hair entered and nodded at me, then took a chair.

“May I introduce Mr. Dean Callaghan”, I said. “He works at an establishment of a friend of mine in London as well as undertaking acting roles in his spare time. His most recent performance was a quite remarkable one in which he played a gypsy traveller passing through a quiet English village, where he 'chanced' to meet a local lady who urgently needed money.”

I noted how pale Mrs. Remenham had gone.

“He did indeed speak to you, madam”, I told you, “and you saw an excellent opportunity to claim on the death of your last child and hence to afford the excellent house in Barcombe which recently came onto the market and which I ensured that you had heard about. In return for a slice of your pay-out he would drown your child and then conveniently disappear.”

“The word of an actor?” she said scornfully. “Who would believe that?”

“Unfortunately for you one other person overheard your discussions”, I said with a knowing smile. “And unusual although it is, I think that in the circumstances a court would likely admit their evidence. Let us ask them.”

I returned to the door and opened it to admit another person to the room. Miss Elizabeth Remenham, who glared at her shocked mother angrily.

“You wait!” Mrs. Remenham sneered, recovering her poise. “I'll get off. You'll see!”

֍

The siren's faith in her own charms was, thankfully, misplaced. A jury of twelve good men and true heard all the evidence against her despite her lawyer's attempts to debar her daughter from being heard, and they agreed to dispatch her to where she rightly belonged, to join Satan in hell. And a good riddance.

John and I returned to London via the slow train and I duly made good use of that non-corridor train as far as Purley, where he had to have a sit-down on the platform to recover. Bastard that I was (and still am), I spent the time telling him what I was going to do with him once I had him back in Baker Street. Which as things turned out was little more than a long hot bath together and an even longer session of that manly embracing thing he liked. Well, after having made him come three times between Newick and Purley, the poor old soul was not fit for much else!

֍

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The line down which Sherlock and John travelled was later (1960) the first standard-gauge preserved railway in Great Britain, the Bluebell Railway. As of 2019 it runs from Sheffield Park (the station just north of Newick) through Horsted Keynes to connect with the national rail network at East Grinstead, a distance of nearly ten miles. The line has medium-term plans to reopen the line from Horsted Keynes through Ardingly to the main London to Brighton line at Haywards Heath and also long-term plans to reopen through Newick & Chailey down to the network again at Lewes, although this will require a deviation as Newick Station has since been built over.


End file.
